


Good Man

by orphan_account



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis is rain-soaked and ornery.  Edward wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Man

Francis Underwood stormed into the townhouse cursing, followed at the heels by a frantic agent, Miller, who clutched a bent umbrella. Soaked and sputtering, the Vice President called loudly for his wife, shouting ‘Claire!’ up the empty staircase while he pulled off his shoes, throwing them hard against the newly painted walls, chipping the plaster. Claire Underwood didn’t come but Edward Meechum, his bag in hand, did.

“Where is my wife?” snapped Francis, pushing a lock of thin, dripping hair back with a wince. He looked at his hand and there was a spot of fresh blood.

“Sir! I’m so sorry!” Miller stammered. It was a scratch from the pointed wire rib of the umbrella which the wind had just destroyed. Edward tapped other agent's shoulder. “I’ve got this,” he said, putting down his bag. His shift had just ended but his job had only just begun, it seemed. “There is a stack of old towels in the cabinet to the left of the dryer. Clean up. I’ll take care of the Vice President.”

He turned back but Francis was gone, up the stairs –still cursing, swearing that anyone bothering him would not only be fired but decapitated. Miller lifted a worried eyebrow as Edward mounted the stairs.

*

“Meechum?” snapped Francis. Edward only smiled as he walked past the man a heartbeat from the Presidency, towards the bathroom where he grabbed a towel. He returned, placing it carefully atop Francis’s head and began to rub.

“Where’s my wife, Meechum,” Francis asked, his voice muffled as he calmed down enough for the towel to work.

“I took her to the airport this afternoon, Sir. The funeral in Texas…”

Francis groaned. “Megan Hennessy. Jesus! Poor little thing.”

Standing together in silence, Francis dripped, standing still while Edward pulled off his tie and worked his buttons. Francis kicked off his pants, himself but Edward gathered the wet clothes.

“Mud, Sir?” Edward shook a pant leg at his lover as he dropped the soiled clothing in the laundry baskets in the bathroom.

“Groundbreaking for the First Lady’s vegetable patch,” Francis spat venomously. “Why would anyone want to play like a goddamned sharecropper is beyond me! I was in the middle of the thing, surrounded by piles of shit they ever-so politely called compost when the storm rolled in. Me in my brand new shoes and my favorite suit!”

Drier but now shivering, Francis stood naked in front of the younger man, his cock and scrotum pulled tight into his body with the cold.

“Sir, will you do me a favor?” whispered Edward, who leaned down to brush his lips against Francis’s neck.

“Will it be hard?” smirked Francis. Edward snorted, his fingertip testing the tiny scratch on Francis’s cheek; the bleeding had stopped. “Maybe. Will you please lie down on the bed, facedown and let me warm you up?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

*

Edward winced as his skin touched the icy plains of the Vice President’s back, his very warm pelvis meeting the icy globes of Francis’s ass. The older man’s shivering increased, his teeth actually clattering in the few moments before Edward’s warmth penetrated his skin and warmed his core.

Always eager, Edward paid homage to his captive’s neck and shoulders, kisses turning to nips as they both moaned and found friction.

“Turn over,” ordered Edward, roughly, with an audacity neither he nor Francis had ever expected. Francis, amused, obeyed, moaning as their lips met, as did their eager cocks. He started rocking his hips and Francis stopped him long enough to wrap his sturdy legs around the Secret Service Agent’s slender hips.

No lube was needed; each was slick enough and they fell into a rhythm that served them both. Francis came first, when Edward’s teeth scraped his left nipple. The younger man followed, his cock thrusting into Francis’s fist, the way eased by the Vice President’s ejaculate.

Edward moved, ready to clean up them both but now it was Francis’s turn to assert himself, to regain his rightful spot as the dominate male. He held Edward, preventing him from leaving.

“Stay,” he said, “If only for a minute.” Edward, viscerally relieved to be back to his rightful spot in the hierarchy, settled his head against the soft fluff of Francis chest, pulling the sheet and blankets over them both.

*

In the morning, Francis was in bed alone but he walked downstairs to find Edward, resplendent in his dark suit and earpiece, spreading fresh plaster over the considerable divot from the day before.

“I’ll sand it when it dries. Couple of hours. There’s still plenty of paint from the renovation.”

Squatting down to see the regretful result of his fit of pique, Francis let his fingers brush surreptitiously against Edwards.

“Good man,” he said simply, with a sincerity that Francis reserved for only one other person in the world. “Good man!”


End file.
